


Always you

by Wwwhat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But Not Much, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day challenge fic, a little bit of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wwwhat/pseuds/Wwwhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John might have just slightly different ideas of romance...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aday-inthelife-ofadreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aday-inthelife-ofadreamer).



> Hello all! 
> 
> This little story is my gift to aday-inthelife-ofadreamer as part of the Johnlockchallenges Valentine's Day Challenge. The prompt was: **John tries to be romantic, Sherlock doesn’t realize it, and they compromise.**
> 
> I hope you like it when you read it **aday-inthelife**.
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day everyone <3 
> 
> Thanks! W :-)
> 
>  
> 
> \-------

By the time it happened John had known Sherlock for almost a decade, though, as long as it was, it felt like far longer, as if he’d always known Sherlock. So much had happened in those years that sometimes John struggled to remember life before Sherlock. In all that time Sherlock had been the only constant, even when he’d been dead their time together had shaped so many of John’s decisions.

And after, when Sherlock was gone but then back, when Moriarty was back and then gone, when Mary was gone, Sherlock was the thing that held him together. In the midst of his grief, a widower less than a year after marrying and a man robbed of his chance to be a father, Sherlock had moved all of his things back to Baker Street, had dealt with so many practical things that John hadn’t even grasped at the time how much Sherlock had taken care of for him.

There had been cases, the work, things to distract and exhaust John. Slowly, _slowly_ Sherlock had pieced John back together, and even more slowly Sherlock had patched up John’s broken heart. He’d done it so carefully and so discreetly that John had hardly noticed it was happening until one day, he realised that while he’d always carry sorrow with him about Mary and their lost child, it was no longer overwhelming him every day. Gradually he found himself able to move forward, to try to enjoy things, life, again.

Almost a year after his revelation that life would go on, he had another. He’d found himself watching Sherlock, comparing the man he was now with the man he’d been when John had first met him all those years ago. He considered how much had happened between them, they’d killed for each other, almost died for each other (Sherlock, of course, going much further than John would ever think necessary with that one). John would almost certainly not be the person he was without Sherlock, but, John thought, Sherlock wouldn’t be who he was without John either.

Then one rainy day in March they’d been all over the city following a murderer who’d evaded them for weeks, finally tracking him down after hours spent in the pouring rain. The high of the case had them laughing all the way back to Baker St despite the fact that they had to walk, drenched to the skin, too soaked for any taxis to stop for them.

As Sherlock peeled his dripping coat off, his jacket going with it, John was hit by a realisation. He watched as Sherlock shook his hair out and roughly flung his coat and jacket over the end of the banister.

 _I’m completely in love with him,_ John thought.

And before he could stop himself he’d pushed the taller man back against the bird covered wallpaper of the hallway, his hands cupping Sherlock’s face, pulling the stunned man down towards him as he pressed his lips against Sherlock’s. For a horrifying second Sherlock didn’t respond and John thought perhaps he’d read everything all wrong. Everything he thought he’d seen over the years but had ignored (because he wasn't gay, because Sherlock was dead, because of Mary), perhaps none of it had meant anything. Before he could get too much further with that thought though, Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer kissing him like he meant it.

The next day, early, before they’d cleared away the trail of still damp clothes from the hallway to the sofa to the bedroom, Sherlock had wrapped his hand around John’s wrist as John moved to leave the bed.

“Where are you going?” He mumbled.

“Thought maybe you’d want your bed back.” John watched him carefully, unsure of how Sherlock would respond in such an alien situation. It had become clear in the night that Sherlock wasn’t a virgin, but sex and...whatever this was between them were very different things.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled John close to him, pressing kisses over his face. “Idiot. I never want it back.”

So that was that. John moved his things down to Sherlock’s room and for the most part it was as if nothing changed, but underneath it all John could feel it, the small but significant shift in everything.

 

\-----

 

Despite the subtleness of it, the change from friends to more than friends brought with it new situations that John had never thought he'd encounter with Sherlock.

After the latest case Sherlock had been at Scotland Yard giving a statement about it. John, still flush with the excitement of a new relationship had decided to surprise Sherlock by cooking dinner, a rare occurrence in 221b but while he was far from an accomplished cook he could get by, and Mary had always appreciated him trying. Besides, Sherlock had barely eaten while the case was on and knowing him would be ravenous when he got back. 

So John had cleared away the worst of the experiments from the kitchen, and had double checked the pots and pans for any signs of brains or eyes or feet and was soon stirring a fairly decent attempt at Thai green curry. Just as everything was coming together he heard the front door slam and Sherlock's familiar tread on the stairs.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked looking utterly bewildered as he entered the kitchen.

"Making dinner," John smiled as he turned around. "There's some wine that needs opening - oh...whats that?" He asked nodding at the bag in Sherlock's hand. 

"I bought takeaway."

"Oh." John tried not to feel disappointed, Sherlock didn't know he was going to cook after all.

"We always have takeaway after a case." Sherlock put the bag on the counter still confused. "Why is there wine?"

John had turned all the pans off and dropped lids on things. He felt faintly embarrassed and also ridiculous about feeling embarrassed. "I just thought it'd be nice."

"And this?" Sherlock gestured at the plates John had set out on the surprisingly clean kitchen table. 

"I just thought we could...sit at the table." John could feel his ears going pink and he hated himself for it. He was a grown man for fuck's sake, he shouldn't feel embarrassed about doing something nice for his boyfriend (even if the term boyfriend did make him feel like a 15 year old inside).

"Why?" Sherlock was still looking at him like he'd suggested replacing their bed with a bed of nails. Which, John thought, would probably have gone over better since that at least could be classed as an experiment.

Feeling embarrassed and ridiculous John snapped. "I just thought it would be nice, that's all! We've been all over the city for days, I've hardly seen you and thought it might be nice to eat together."

"We always eat together, you've never done this before."

"Oddly enough I've never thought a romantic meal would be appropriate before!" John said, voice raised, roughly collecting the cutlery from the table

"Oh." Sherlock said. "Oh! I see, this is one of those couple things." He reached out to still John's hand.

"Yes," John nodded, his cheeks burning at his outburst.

Sherlock moved closer. "This is all new to me."

"I'm not exactly a pro."

"I know, but you've done this before," Sherlock said with a tilt of his head to the now partly unset table. "Couple stuff. It'll take me a bit longer to get the hang of it."

John nodded still embarrassed, burying his face in Sherlock's coat as the taller man pulled him forward. 

"The food from House of Spice always tastes better the next day anyway," Sherlock said gently.

"Thank you," John mumbled

\---

"Why aren't you ready?" John asked as he walked into the living room, stopping in his tracks at the sight of Sherlock sprawled with a book on his chair, dressing gown still on.

Sherlock looked down at himself as if he was trying to see what might have caused John's reaction. "What do you mean?"

"I text you! You said you were dressed." John headed into the bedroom.

"Well I'm not naked am I?" Sherlock replied baffled by John.

"I text you," John said almost as if Sherlock hadn't spoken. "About the cinema, you said yes. You said you were dressed." With the last word he threw some trousers and a shirt at Sherlock.

"Ah."

John turned back to Sherlock, frown on his face. "What?

"You want me to go with you?" Sherlock asked, still in his chair but holding his trousers and shirt.

"What are you talking about? Of course I want you to go with me. Sherlock, what did you think I meant?" He dropped into his chair watching Sherlock carefully. 

"I thought you meant you were going to the cinema."

"On my own?"

Sherlock shrugged, suddenly feeling terribly amateur.

"Sherlock, I want to go out _with you_. Put some clothes on, we need to go soon." John stood up, picking up the newspaper that he'd left scattered in the living room the day before.

"Why?"

John carried on tidying not looking at Sherlock. "Because if you miss the beginning it tends to spoil the film, though probably not for you, you can just deduce-"

"No, I mean why do you want to go with me?"

John's heart ached a bit when he turned and saw Sherlock's confusion. He sighed softly, turning and dropping into a crouch next to Sherlock, burying a hand in his hair.

"Because I want to go out on a date with my boyfriend and that's usually easier if said boyfriend is actually, y'know, on the date."

"A date?"

John smiled. "Yeah, you know where two people who like each other go out and have fun."

A smile slowly spread over Sherlock's face at John reusing words he'd said so long ago.

"Last time you said that you also said you hoped it wasn't what I was suggesting."

John grinned. "What can I say? I'm an idiot." With that he leaned forward and kissed him firmly. "Now put some clothes on and take me out." He stood up and stepped away. "And you never know, you might get lucky afterwards."

Sherlock grinned as John walked away. Maybe he could get on board with dates after all.

 

\---

 

"I still can't believe it," Greg grinned at him, resting his paper coffee cup on the top of the wall they were leaning against. 

John rolled his eyes but his own grin was still firmly on his face. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know."

"Sherlock is actually taking you away for your birthday?" Greg looked like John had just told him that Anderson was a secret drag queen; baffled but amused.

John bobbed his head from side to side. "Well, more like I'm taking him, and there were strict rules: one night, no more than 50 miles from London, no public transport."

"And that convinced him?" Greg asked, still bewildered.

"Well, that and a few other things," John replied, smirk turning into a laugh as Greg blushed.

"Noted," he said clearing his throat. "But yeah, I promise I won't call about a case unless it's 100% life or death, and can't wait 24 hours."

After a few minutes of general chat Greg was about to say his goodbyes and head back to the yard. "I just can't imagine it, you and Sherlock."

John barked out a laugh. "I'd really rather you didn't mate." 

Greg blushed again but shook his head. "Not that, obviously. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're possibly the two most well suited people I know, but I just...I can't imagine Sherlock as someone's boyfriend, I can't exactly see him buying you chocolates and presents."

John smiled at Greg's curious expression. "Nah, he's not romantic like that, but...let's just say he shows it in his own ways."

 

\---

 

No matter how many times John had got a call to say that Sherlock had been injured and was in the hospital, John didn't think he'd ever lose that terrible feeling. The drop in his stomach, the feeling of ice in his veins. 

He'd dropped everything, of course and rushed to the hospital where he'd found Sherlock, pale and bandaged but complaining. John breathed a sigh of relief, complaining at least meant not unconscious. John pressed a hard kiss against him, his hands framing Sherlock's face.

"You complete cock," he said, harsh words softened by the relief in his voice. "What happened this time?" He eased himself down to the edge of Sherlock's bed.

"Just got a bit stabbed." His nonchalance would have been a lot more convincing if his attempt at a casual shrug hadn't left him wincing. 

John moved to pull Sherlock's notes from the end of the bed, scanning them to see for himself just what 'a bit stabbed' meant, reassured to see that not too much damage had been done.

"You idiot, what the hell happened? I thought you didn't have anything on today." He found he couldn't quite let go of Sherlock's hand. 

"I didn't but Lestrade phoned, turned out his team failed to check properly if the suspect was still in the house."

"Ah," John said, already planning the mouthful of abuse he was going to give Greg next time he saw him. "You feeling ok? You're on a really mild painkiller, do you want me to talk to them about something stronger?"

Sherlock shook his head. "There's some forms that need filling in," he said changing the subject.

"Let me guess, you're too injured to fill them in yourself?" John asked already pulling the clipboard onto his lap and filling in Sherlock's name and address. Dealing with Sherlock's life admin had become second nature to him.

"Definitely too stabbed for forms."

John rolled his eyes and poked Sherlock's leg gently with the end of the pen. "What do you actually put for Mycroft's address?"

"Why would you need that?" Sherlock asked barely looking up from his phone.

"For your next of kin."

Sherlock frowned. John could be so dense sometimes. "I always put you in that bit."

John looked at him in that way he had, like he was trying to do a particularly hard equation. Sherlock tried not to find it endearing but couldn't help himself. "What? Since when?" 

"Years now. You can leave it blank if you mind it being you, I don't believe they'll cease treatment because my next of kin details are blank." John was still looking at him funny and had stopped filling the form in. "Are you going to look at me like that until I give in and fill the form in myself?"

"What? Oh, um, no, no, I just...I never realised. I don't mind."

Sherlock looked down at his phone, not looking back up until he heard the scratch of the pen on the paper. John had an oddly pleased look on his face. The man had some strange ideas about things sometimes thought Sherlock, ignoring the small hint of a smile on his own face.

 

\---

 

John felt suddenly very alone. He knew it was his own fault. He was the one who'd shouted at Sherlock and told him to 'fuck off and leave me alone'. That Sherlock had taken him at his word shouldn't have surprised John, but he missed him desperately now and regretted his words more with every minute. 

He pulled his coat a little tighter around him, the chill from sitting outside for so long starting to creep into his bones. His shoulder would ache tomorrow for sure, he thought, suddenly feeling very old. He dropped his head forward into his hands, his elbows on his knees trying to stop the wild fizz of emotions running through him. 

He sighed as he felt someone sit next to him. Was it not obvious that a man sat by himself in a cemetery probably wanted to be left alone?

He turned his head preparing to tell his new seat mate to bugger off when instead of a stranger he found Sherlock sat quietly next to him, looking out over the graveyard. John watched him carefully for a few moments, trying to weigh up how angry Sherlock was about their row earlier.

"I know you told me to leave you alone, but I thought I might ignore that instead. I can leave if you'd prefer though."

Sherlock still wasn't looking at him and John still had his head in his hands. For a while they said nothing until John shifted, wrapping his arms around Sherlock, pressing his face into the man's neck. 

"Thank you," he whispered, pulling Sherlock infinitesimally closer, so grateful to have a partner who knew that when he'd said 'fuck off and leave me alone' what he meant was 'I'm sad and guilty and too emotionally stunted to ask you to come to the cemetery with me on the anniversary of the death of my wife and unborn child.'

Sherlock squeezed him back, knowing there wasn't anything he could say, but hoping just being there would be enough, that just by holding John close and forgetting his angry words from earlier he could get them across without saying out loud 'I love you, I know that you're sad and I'm here for you.'

From the way John squeezed his hand when he sat up next to him Sherlock thought the message might have been received.

 

\----

 

"So are you going to make tea now?" Sherlock's voice rumbled close to his ear, his back pressed against Sherlock's chest. 

"You know, I've heard a rumour some couples share the post coital tea making responsibilities," John said, pressing his grin against Sherlock's arm where it was under his head. 

"That sounds ridiculous."

John could hear the grin in his voice. "It's something we could try though, as an experiment."

"Just calling something an experiment won't make me interested you know."

John grinned to himself, hearing Sherlock so happy that it radiated through his voice made John ridiculously happy. "Are you sure? We could investigate the effects of different sexual acts on your tea making skills. Do you make a better cuppa after a blow job or after rimming? Does whether you're on top or bottom make a difference? We could investigate variables within each one. Me riding you vs missionary position? We could determine whether doing it in places than in bed has an impact, fucking you on your desk might result in the perfect-hey!" John broke off from his 'scientific' theories as Sherlock jumped from the bed pulling him roughly up by one hand. "What are you doing?!" John asked as Sherlock pulled him along.

"You were right, this definitely calls for experimentation."

John grinned as Sherlock pulled him along but frowned as they failed to stop in the kitchen. "What about the tea?"

"Fucking first then tea."

With that Sherlock turned and dragged John close to him and into a dirty kiss as he sat up on the edge of the desk positioning John between his knees. John leaned back a little, looking at his lover as Sherlock lay back on the desk, looking entirely wanton, his legs spread around John's hips, his hair still disheveled from their earlier sex. 

Clearly impatient Sherlock tilted his hips up slightly as he lazily stroked his cock. "Come on John, for science."

John grinned as he rested his hands on Sherlock's hips, dragging him closer. "Fucking for science - romantic."

Sherlock nodded, seeming to miss John's playful sarcasm. "Exactly. Now get on with it."

With that John grinned and pressed himself down against Sherlock, kissing his neck. "Alright, but only in the name of scientific progress."

 

\---

 

John shivered as cold air snuck in as the duvet was lifted up, but before the cold could settle in a warm, mostly clothed detective was pressed behind him.

"Mmm, did you solve it already?" He mumbled sleepily as Sherlock curled around him, a long arm wrapping around his middle. 

He'd got home from a shift at the surgery to find a hurried note from Sherlock saying he'd be back late. In the few years they'd been a couple John had just about convinced Sherlock that leaving a note to say he'd gone out was not ridiculous or over the top, and would stop John from phoning Mycroft when Sherlock was still nowhere to be found 10 hours after last seeing him.

"I wasn't on a case, just had to go out for a bit."

John nodded and pressed back against him, sleep creeping back over him as cosy as he was wrapped in Sherlock's arms. 

"I love you," Sherlock rumbled close to John's ear make John grin sleepily.

He knew Sherlock loved him and he showed it in numerous creative ways, but John still liked to hear it.

"Mmm, love you too," he replied, starting to let sleep take him as he felt Sherlock's hand trail down his arm. He opened his hand waiting for Sherlock to press his fingers between his own and pull him closer as was Sherlock's usual move. He smiled as Sherlock's fingers slowly danced over his but his brow creased in confusion as he felt Sherlock slide something over his third finger. 

His sleepy brain slowly formed the connections about what Sherlock might have just done and Sherlock seemed to have frozen behind him, clearly waiting for John's reaction. 

For a long moment neither of them moved and John's left hand felt like it had a lead weight on it. He rolled onto his back still not pulling his hand out from under the covers. 

"Sherlock, what-"

"I knew you'd want to talk about it. I should have gone with my original plan of just putting it on you while you were properly asleep." Sherlock huffed gently but didn't move from his position pressed against John's side.

"I think I'd notice you trying to-"

Sherlock flapped a hand around. "No you wouldn't, how do you think I knew what size to get?"

"You-you tried rings on me in my sleep?!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, even though John could only half see him in the room that was dimly lit by the light from the hallway. 

"Sherlock...what-this..." John finally pushed himself up to sit up in the bed cutting off his own words at the sight of a gold band on the third finger of his left hand. "Huh...that's..."

Sherlock watched as John sat motionless, transfixed. "You can take it off if you hate it," Sherlock eventually said, as close to uncomfortable as John had ever seen him.

"I don't...I don't _hate_ it," John managed, eventually dragging his eyes from his hand up to Sherlock. "Just...what does it mean?"

Sherlock huffed again but still stayed close. "I thought that would be obvious."

The sight of Sherlock almost squirming under John's gaze made it painfully obvious how nervous the detective was, the detective who knew everything, and was certain in all his decisions was unsure now. 

"Is this you saying you want us to get married?" John asked gently.

Sherlock shook his head a little. "No, I'm saying I feel like we already are and I want everyone to see that you're mine."

And that was something John had never expected Sherlock to say. The truth so plainly laid out in front of him John couldn't help the grin that spread over his face. 

"You're pleased," Sherlock said, his frown lifting slightly. 

"Of course I'm pleased you idiot." With that a grinning John pulled Sherlock down, the detective ending up half sprawled over him.

"If you want a party-" Sherlock began, cut off by another kiss from John.

"A wedding."

Sherlock grinned into the kiss. "Fine, if you want _a wedding_ ," he rolled his eyes, "we could maybe do something small-"

"I wouldn't make you do that," John grinned pulling Sherlock closer. "Idiot. I can't believe this is how you're proposing."

"Well, I'm not exactly-"

"No you are, that's what this is," John grinned feeling slightly giddy.

"Shut up," Sherlock complained, burying his face against John's neck, biting softly at his clavicle. "Can we just go straight to the honeymoon part?"

"You, want a honeymoon?" John asked feeling as though he'd woken up in some sort of alternate universe.

Sherlock pressed down against John working his hand between them to tug on the tie of John's pyjamas. "I want a sex holiday."

John's laugh turned into something more breathy as Sherlock's cold hand touched him. "Can't have a honeymoon til we're married, we need to do the legal stuff, you need a ring."

"Well...they sort of came as a pair."

John tugged carefully at Sherlock's hair until they were far enough apart to see each other. "Where is it?"

Sherlock held his weight up one arm as he removed his hand from John's pajamas and fished in his pocket pulling out a small leather envelope sealed with a press stud, holding it between his index and middle finger. John's eyes were glued to the tiny packet for a while before he gently moved his hand from where it had come to rest on the small of Sherlock's back and took it from him. He turned it over between his fingers a few times feeling the metal inside the envelope before flipping it open, carefully pulling the gold band from inside it. He finally looked up at Sherlock. "You sure?" 

"About you? Always."

John pulled Sherlock close, kissing him tenderly. With that he carefully slid the metal band that matched the one now on his own hand into place exactly where it was meant to be.

\-------

**Author's Note:**

> \------
> 
>  
> 
> Anyone interested in taking part in some Johnlock Challenges should check out johnlockchallenges.tumblr.com !


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